


Labyrinth

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Coma, Dark, F/M, Humor, Incest, R/NC-17 - Red Cortina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 16:46:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: When you live in dreams, then what is real?Spoilers:for 1.01





	Labyrinth

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Warning for slight themes of incest, nothing explicit.
> 
>  **SPOILERS:** for first series
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. The ballroom scene and peach are borrowed from the film _Labyrinth_ , by the Henson Company and the Black Sands are borrowed from Death’s Domain on the Discworld, by Terry Prachett.

Sam was not having a good day. He’d woken up still in a whisky-fuelled fog, cut himself shaving, again, and had been late into the station. He’d barely sat down at his desk with his first coffee of the day when Gene had pulled him away, barking something about a robbery in progress. Now the suspects had got away and he was forced to chase them through the alleys and back streets of Manchester. It was like a labyrinth, all twists and turns. It would be so easy to get lost in these streets, if they were unfamiliar.

 

 

His breath rasped in his throat. Too many nights on the booze and he was getting unfit. He’d still outstripped Ray and Chris as they had hared after the robbers, but he was nowhere near his normal level of fitness. Sam resolved to start exercising more, off the job. May be some jogging, perhaps. Once they’d caught this lot.

 

 

He chased one into an alley and realised too late that it was a blind alley. He stopped as he reached the end wall. The man he had been chasing was nowhere to be seen. He turned to go back and saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. The suspect had obviously stopped and hidden halfway down the alley. He scrambled for his badge, his gun, anything, but Sam was unprepared. The man swung at him with what appeared to be a cricket bat and everything went black.

* * * * *

Sam woke into darkness. He was lying on what felt like sand, a beach stretching out as far as he could see. The sand was crystalline black, each grain reflecting a light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. There were no footsteps, just endless smooth surface, glimmering slightly. The sky, also deep black, did not shine, but instead seemed absorb the light and his gaze.

 

 

Sam picked himself up and dusted the sand from his clothes. The air was cold, but not unbearably so, there was no wind, no sound at all. Everything was still, peaceful, at rest.

 

 

A crunch of sand behind him startled Sam and he whipped round. A man in a black suit stood a few yards away, his face pale, his hair shining with the same light as the sand at his feet. From this angle the man looked skeletal, but as Sam walked slowly towards him he began to realise, a little hysterically, that he looked a little like David Bowie.

 

 

“Who are you? Where am I?” Sam demanded.

 

 

“Where you are,” the man replied. “I am choice, this is reality.”

 

 

Sam shook his head. “This doesn’t look like reality.”

 

 

The man smiled slowly. “Oh, Sam. Reality is what you make of it.” He pulled out a sphere. It reminded Sam a little of the crystal balls the fortune tellers his mother visited when on holiday to Blackpool and Southport had gazed into. The man started tossing it from side to side and rolling it in his hands. “You look at life from one angle and everything is dull, the same. You look at it from another angle…” he moved his hand and ball rolled over the man’s knuckles, twisting and gliding effortlessly “… and a door opens.” He moved his other hand and a fiery blue line was traced in the air, crackling and resolving into a large, ornate wooden door. “Here.” He tossed the sphere to Sam, which as it arced seemed to turn translucent and then opaque. “A present.”

 

 

Sam caught the sphere awkwardly and stared at it. It was a peach, fuzzy and pink and warm in his hand. “What is it?”

 

 

“It is the key to your dreams.”

 

 

“And the door? Where does it lead?”

 

 

“Now that I can’t answer. Only the one who steps through can know that.” The man cocked his head to one side. “You need to take that definitive step, Sam. After all, isn’t life just a journey? One step after another to our ultimate destination.”

 

 

The door swung open silently in front of him and, with an impatient gesture from the man in black, Sam stepped through.

* * * * *

Sam stood in a brightly lit hall. To one side tables were laid out, straining with food and glasses of some sort of wine. The rest of the hall seemed to be a giant dance-floor, packed with formally and fancy- dressed couples dancing to a seemingly invisible band. The walls were draped in white silk and crystal chandeliers, high in the ceiling, cast a lavish glow over the proceedings.

 

 

Sam felt underdressed, but, catching sight of himself in one of the numerous large mirrors lining the room, he found himself dressed for the part in exquisitely tailored black tie and tails.

 

 

He moved to the side of the room, as if to pick up a glass of champagne, but in reality to gather his thoughts. Couples spun past him, their faces unfamiliar or hidden behind lavish masks, their eyes on nothing but each other.

 

 

He felt a presence at his elbow and turned to see Annie, resplendent in a formal ball gown of shimmering green, her hair caught up in combs, ringlets framing her face.

 

 

“Annie,” Sam said in wonder. “You look beautiful.”

 

 

Annie gently smiled and held out her hand inviting. ”Dance with me, Sam.” He took her hand and pulled her in close, breathing in her perfume.

 

 

“Oh, Annie.” 

 

 

They danced, entwined together, to the haunting music, Annie’s head rested on Sam’s shoulder, her breath ghosting along his neck. Time seemed to slow down and reality coalesced to just the two of them, swaying with the beat, twisting and turning in a languid circle.

 

 

The music changed and a familiar melody, picked out on piano, filled the room. A blonde woman in a figure-hugging blue dress silently drifted up to the pair and tapped Annie on the shoulder. “I believe this is my dance.”

 

 

Sam looked up into his mother’s eyes as she took his arms, pushing Annie out of the way. 

 

 

“Sam.” She took control of the dance, waltzing him away from Annie, left standing there alone. Sam sent a beseeching gaze after Annie, but she turned away and vanished amongst the other dancers.

 

 

“Mum...”

 

 

She cut him off with a look. “Now, now, Sam. You and I have had this conversation before. You call me Ruth. Remember?” She pushed him into a twirl. “Let’s see what they’ve done to my beautiful boy. Hmm.” Her eyes travelled up and down his form, assessing. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” She pulled him back into a tight embrace.

 

 

Sam looked desperately around him and caught sight of Maya, dressed in white, dancing in the arms of the Doorkeeper. He tried to pull away, but Ruth held him close, her fingers biting into his shoulder. “Sam, you and I know there’s only one way this can end.” She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” She pulled back and, holding his hands, stared in his eyes with blatant invitation.

 

 

Sam jerked away, pushing against her. Ruth’s fingernails scratched painfully against his wrists, drawing blood. “You can’t fight this, Sam. You know you can’t.” 

 

 

“I can try,” he snarled and twisted and snatched, finally breaking her hold and, pushing against her shoulders, sent her stumbling backwards into the other dancers.

 

 

He spun wildly, looking for Maya, but she was no longer to be seen on the packed dance-floor. He pushed through the dancers, searching and thinking he’d caught a glimpse of her but, when turning his head, could not find her. Further and further he pushed through the spinning and whirling dance, until a girlish voice brought him up short.

 

 

“Sam, I’m surprised at you. I would have thought you too grown up to be living such a fantasy.” He spun and, looking down, stared into the eyes of the young girl from the test-card. She was still wearing her red dress, still holding her creepy clown.

 

 

“Don’t worry, Sam. We are such stuff as dreams are made of, after all. And our little life is rounded with a sleep.” She tilted her head and gave Sam an assessing look. If you don’t want Annie or Maya or Ruth, perhaps it’s me you’re looking for. Mr. Chuckles will probably be jealous to start with, but I know you two will eventually get on fine.” She took a step towards him and held out her hand.

 

 

Sam, terrified, turned on his heel and ran. Battling through the dancers, still wildly spinning, he looked back to see the girl still following him. He pushed further and further through, the couples thinning out now, to be brought up short by a wall of mirrors. Trapped, there was no way out, she was still following and so he did the only thing he could think of. He picked up a chair and threw It hard at the mirror.

 

 

It shattered into a million pieces, as did the dance. The dancers faded away to nothing in high-pitched screams. The girl, still holding out her hand snatched at Sam, only to vanish in front of him, the clown falling to the floor and fading away into insubstantial mist. The room crumbled and Sam fell into the darkness.

* * * * *

Sam woke to the dying strains of David Bowie echoing through the car. He looked around him wildly as the track changed to _Aladdin Sane_. He seemed to be sat in his Jeep on the slip road where he was sure he had been run over. He took a deep breath. He must have fallen asleep and just dreamed the insane idea of living in 1973. He pulled the rear-view mirror around and down, gazing at his reflection. He was a little red-eyed, but otherwise seemed fine. He patted his pockets and pulled out his warrant card, flipping it open he read “DCI Tyler….” Sam grinned. He was back. He was bloody well back!

 

 

He angled the mirror back to its normal position and in doing so caught sight of someone on the back seat. Sam whipped round and saw Maya, sans blouse, lying across the seat, unconscious and bleeding slightly from a cut to her temple. He quickly pulled off his jacket and awkwardly pulled it across her, checking her pulse as he did so. It was slow and steady. He debated taking her straight to the hospital, but he should radio in first. He reached across to the dashboard and cursed. He was in his personal car and there was no radio. It would therefore be more sensible to drive straight to the station and then on to the hospital.

 

 

Sam chuckled to himself, tapping the steering wheel in triumph. He was back where he belonged and Maya was safe on the back seat of his car. Everything was as it should be. He turned on the ignition, put the car into gear and pulled away.

 

 

It wasn’t far to the station and it was mere minutes before he pulled into the car park amidst the Saabs and Volkswagens and BMWs of the modern age. As he parked in his customary spot, a movement from the back of the car startled him slightly. Sam undid his seatbelt and turned around into the bewildered gaze of Maya. Her eyes became hard as she pulled Sam’s jacket on and buttoned it up, covering her nakedness.

 

 

“Maya. I’m sorry.” Sam said glancing away.

 

 

Maya remained silent, staring at Sam.

 

 

Sam sighed, turned round and got out of the car. Walking round to the back passenger seat he opened the door and offered his hand to help Maya out. With a little hesitation she reached out and grabbed his hand and wrist, pulling Sam slightly off balance. 

 

 

She climbed out of the car, still holding Sam’s wrist and in one smooth move, pulled his handcuffs out of his jacket pocket, twisting his arm behind him as she did so. Slipping on the cuffs, she finally spoke. “Samuel Tyler, I’m arresting you for the murder of Lauren Chester and the kidnapping of a police officer.”

 

 

“What? I mean…”

 

 

Her voice took on a harder tone. “(Rights).”

 

 

“But it’s not true. There’s no way I could murder Lauren. There’s no way I could’ve been down Satchmore Road when you were kidnapped. You called me at the station when you were trailing Raimes.”

 

 

“I called you on your mobile. I saw you answer the damn thing as you were waiting for Mr. Raimes. You saw me, grabbed me, tearing off my shirt in the process, and then hit me. Hard. You still had your mobile in your hand. What’s the odds on it still having blood on it?” Maya put her hand into Sam’s jacket pocket and pulled out the phone. The cover was stained with blood and there seemed to be hairs stuck to one corner.

 

 

Sam’s eyes widened. “No. No! This isn’t right. This isn’t the truth! This isn’t real!”

 

 

“Ah, Sam. But, after all, reality is what you make it.” Maya smiled a cold-blooded smile and, hauling him through the sliding doors of the station, she called to a young police constable, walking through the hallway “PC Jones, can you take charge of this suspect, please.”

 

 

The policeman turned round and exclaimed “DI Roy! DCI Tyler, Sir…”

 

 

Maya cut him off. “DCI Tyler is now under arrest for murder. Book him in, then take him down to the cells.”

 

 

PC Jones turned pale, but nodded to Maya. “Yes Ma’am.”

 

 

Maya spun on her heel and walked away without a backwards glance.

* * * * *

The cell was cold, seeping through Sam’s shirtsleeves he couldn’t stop shivering. He was bewildered and confused. This was crazy, there was no way that he could’ve been down Satchmore Road. He was in his office, at his desk, when Maya had called. He remembered distinctly rushing out of the station, barely stopping to call for back-up in his race to get the other side of Manchester.

 

 

It was madness, that’s what it was.

 

 

He put his hand in his trouser pockets and was surprised to find an object still in there. He had handed in all his personal property, including his belt, before being charged. But obviously he’d not handed in everything. Pulling it out, he realised it was the peach the Doorkeeper had tossed him back on the Black Sands.

 

 

Sam frowned. If this was here, then this couldn’t be real. He was still trapped in his nightmare. ‘Reality is what you make it’, he remembered. That’s what both the Doorkeeper and Maya had said to him. The Doorkeeper had called this a ‘key’. A key to his dreams. But did it let him into the dreams or did it let him out of them?

 

 

Whichever it was, this couldn’t be real. Sam knew he wasn’t a murderer. Casting an eye to the door and to the camera that would be hidden in the corner of the room, Sam knew that he didn’t have that much time.

 

 

He made his decision as bit into the peach. It tasted funny, a little bitter, a little like marzipan. He chewed forcefully and swallowed. The room began to spin and he stumbled. Voices, muffled, merged into one another as he heard the cell door bang open. He couldn’t breathe, the room darkened and faded and he fell into the blackness.

* * * * *

Sam opened his eyes to a familiar beeping sound. His head throbbed in time to the beeps and he body felt like lead.

 

 

Slowly turning his head, trying to keep movement to a minimum, he saw Gene sat to one side, lazily smoking a cigarette.

 

 

“Ah, Sammy-boy, you’re finally awake.”

 

 

“What happened?”

 

 

“Bobby Regis cracked you one on the nut.” Gene said with a sniff. “What with all the other bangs on your head since you got here, it put you well out. The doctors had to do some fancy butchery to sort you out. Something about your brains leaking out. So, nothing new there then.”

 

 

“Did you…” Sam said.

 

 

Gene interjected, “Don’t worry, we caught him and the rest of them. We’ll be adding assault of a police officer to Bobby’s, already long, list of crimes. Well, as you’re alright, I’ll head back down the station and make a start on that paperwork you’re so keen on.” Gene sniffed again and wandered out of the room, passing Annie as she came in, carrying a coffee.

 

 

Annie sat down next to Sam’s bed. “He was scared,” she tried to explain. “You were in a coma. We didn’t think you’d make it.”

 

 

Sam smiled. “Well, I’m here now. How long was I out?”

 

 

“A couple of days. The doctors had to do surgery to relieve swelling on the brain. We were all scared.”

 

 

“So, I’m all right now?”

 

 

Annie brushed a hair off his forehead. “I hope so.” She paused. “You’ve been ill for a while, Sam. You should have been checked out long before this.”

 

 

Sam grimaced ruefully. “It seems so.”

 

 

Annie looked relieved at that. “So. No more funny stuff then? No protesting that we don’t exist, that we’re not real?”

 

 

Sam shook his head and instantly wished he hadn’t. “I don’t think so. I’ve come to the conclusion that this is real, that you all are.”

 

 

Annie looked into his eyes and smiled. “I’m honoured. After all, reality is what you make it.”

 

 

_fin_


End file.
